The Angel
by trep092
Summary: My theory on why Horace is afraid of dark, enclosed spaces. Is AU as Halt meets Horace as a child. Doesn't take into account any information learned after book nine. Please R&R.
1. Chapter 1

The Angel

By: Trep092

Disclaimer: John Flanagan owns the Ranger's Apprentice, not I.

A/N: I just finished reading the ninth RA book. I know it's taken me a while, but at least I don't have to wait too long for the tenth book to come out (April 19 in Canada yay!). So I was thinking about how Horace is afraid of dark small spaces and this is what my mind came up with to explain his phobia. I know the first chapter is short, but the next one will definitely be longer.

The autumn wind that tossed his dark hair was crisp, though it didn't bother him much. He was too engrossed in his game of knight to be bothered by such trivial things.

His parents were busy gathering in the crops with a bunch of the neighbours, and the neighbour girl that had been entrusted with his care had been easily distracted and he had given her the slip. She was boring; she never wanted to play knight with him. She was always making gooey eyes at a boy from a few farms away. He screwed up his small face in disgust at the thought. If a girl ever made eyes like that at him he'd run them through with his toy sword. With that matter settled, he turned his full attention back to the band of thieves he was decimating.

The grass in the field through which he was running was painted gold by the fall sunlight, though in his mind he was in a forest surrounded by trees and thieving brigands. He whooped as he swung his small wooden sword over his head in an overhead cut, and in his mind, it went straight through one of the thieves.

He leapt lightly to the side and swung around and cut through another thief that was trying to sneak up on him. With that man dispatched, he had only one last enemy to face.

He snuck from tree to tree, and then, with a blur of movement, darted out and ran the last brigand through.

Turning from his imagined enemies, he faced the family he had saved. With a gallant (in his mind) bow, he said, "my Lady, sir, I have saved you!"

With a impish smile, he abandoned that imagined scenario and set off through the field in search of a dragon which was causing great havoc in a nearby town.

He loved playing knight. His parents were constantly reminding him that he was a farmer's son and was unable to become a knight, but that is all he longed to be. He wanted to ride a gigantic battle horse and save helpless people from thieves and bandits. He imagined himself wrapped in shining chainmail, bearing a long shining sword and astride a towering horse. He couldn't see himself ploughing the fields year in and year out like his father did.

As he reached a small rise in the field, he dropped to his belly and inched forward through the dying grass. He could see the dragon over the hill and it was huge and spewing flames into the sky.

He leapt to his feet and charged. He was the bravest knight in the land and a mean, old dragon wasn't going to stop him.

With a few jabs, and a vicious side cut, he felled the towering beast. The last cut though had knocked him off balance. He hopped backwards to regain his footing and gasped in horror as the ground beneath his feet buckled and he fell deep into the earth.

*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*

To be continued. Please R&R!


	2. Chapter 2

The Angel

Chapter 2

By: Trep092

Disclaimer: If I owned RA would I be writing "Fan" Fiction?

A/N: Thanks to all who have read/alerted/reviewed. I loves you all precious. You scared yet?

Reviewers:

Mad taco iz crazy: Yes he is cute isn't he? I hope you like this chapter.

Luvergirlof books: Love your name. Nope falling was not his imagination mwahaha. (runs away)

Lady Bec of Imagineland: I originally wasn't, but because of your review I will! You should feel special!

FuzzyDeMash: I'll take that as a complement!

Wildstar of Windclan: Here you go, I hope you like it!

He hopped backwards to regain his footing and gasped in horror as the ground beneath his feet buckled and he fell deep into the earth.

*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*

Later, he wouldn't be able to say how long it took before he hit the bottom of the hole. In some ways it felt as though it took milliseconds—one second he was standing in the field with the autumn sun beating down on him, and the next he was sprawled at the bottom of a deep hole. In other ways, it seemed as though it took minutes—as though time was standing still he felt his body falling through space with a horrible feeling of terror in his stomach, dreading the moment when he'd hit the bottom. He could remember having enough time to wonder whether the hole even had a bottom, or whether he'd keep falling forever through the earth.

Either way, no matter how long it took him to reach the bottom, eventually he did. The impact of his small body hitting the hard packed dirt at the bottom of the hole was only slightly cushioned by the natural debris that had collected there over time.

The air was knocked from his lungs with a whoosh, and the arm that he had managed to fling out to catch himself exploded with pain.

He couldn't breathe. All he could do was curl up in a ball around his injured arm and whimper piteously.

The pain was worse than the time he had fallen from the tall tree in his yard and had scraped up his arms and legs so badly that some cuts had to be stitched up.

His Ma always said he could find trouble easier than breathe. It wasn't as though he sought out trouble, but his adventures often led him into some sort of mess. As long as he had his sword with him though, he knew he'd be all right.

Where was his sword? He had had it in his hand when he fell down this hole. Temporarily forgetting about the agony ripping through his wrist, he uncurled from the small ball he had made of himself, and peered around his dim surroundings.

The whole was wide enough for two of him to lie end to end. It was roughly circular with a pile of leaves, and pieces of wood and stone covering the bottom. he saw only a tiny patch of illuminated sky when he peered upward.

He knew instantly where he was. In the fallow field in which he had been playing was the old, dry, communal well. He had been warned by his parents to never play in the field by himself as there were many hidden dangers for a small boy. Of course he hadn't thought about that when he had decided to play there. His mind had been completely overrun by the thrill of being allowed to play his favourite game without adult interference.

"Help!" he shouted as loudly as he could. "Please help!"

Nobody replied. Why would they? Everyone was back at the farms bringing in the crops. There was no one to hear his shouts. He was alone.

Panic was setting in. He was at the bottom of a well, deep, deep down in the earth, far away from his parents. Most children in his situation would have started to cry and give up. He on the other hand began to search for possible ways to get out.

The sides of the hole were shored up by crumbling rock which looked easy enough to climb. Before he attempted this though, he searched through the debris around him for his sword.

It had been given to him by his father for his fourth birthday. His father had seen him running around with a stick pretending that it was a sword—and being skilled in woodworking-had whittled a small wooden practice sword for him. It was his most prized possession and he couldn't bear to have it left at the bottom of a well.

Kicking aside a few pieces of the rotten, wooden board that had covered the well's mouth, he saw it. He bent down to pick it up, and unconsciously reached out to grab it with his injured arm. A nasty spasm of pain ripped through his arm and he collapsed to the ground.

Despite his attempts to remain stoic, a loud cry of agony escaped his tightly clenched lips.

The world was whirling around him. He felt as dizzy as he did when his Pa would playfully swing him around in circles.

"Make it stop Pa," he moaned as he curled back into a tight ball and a few traitorous tears slid down his cheeks.

He lay there for what felt like an eternity. Eventually the world ceased its spinning and his rapid, shallow breathing calmed. The sharp pain in his arm was not gone, but it wasn't completely overwhelming.

Timidly he uncurled, and when the agonizing pain didn't return, he slowly clambered to his feet, grabbing up the sword in the process.

Now to tackle the well. After that last episode he wasn't so sure that he could climb out. He gripped the warn wooden hilt of his sword and set his jaw fiercely. He was a knight, and he'd pretend he was climbing a tower to rescue a princess. A true knight wouldn't balk at such a situation, and neither would he.

He had only one problem. While he was confident he could climb with one good hand, he was afraid of banging his injured one into the side of the well as he climbed. He had nearly passed out from the pain of just moving it, he couldn't even imagine the pain he would experience if he knocked it into something.

He had seen men with injured arms bound up in slings across their chests, but he didn't know how to make one and thought that it would probably get in the way as he climbed.

He bit his lip as he thought. He'd have to keep his arm close in to his side. The only way he could think of doing that was to pull his injured arm into his shirt so it could be held between his body and the material of his shirt.

Gritting his teeth against the pain he knew was to come, he began to pull his arm through his sleeve. He was grateful that he had worn a short sleeved shirt as it made for easier manoeuvring. It took several painful minutes as he inched his arm out of the sleeve and then down to rest by his side. The world lurched sickeningly a few times, but he persisted. He was a knight, and knights did not show weakness. The shirt was rather loose on him which made the task slightly easier. He knew that if the shirt had been tighter he would never have gotten his arm through. It was swelling horribly near his wrist.

By the time he was done he was panting heavily and sweat was pouring down his back. He was shaking from a mixture of shock, pain, and fear. He wanted nothing more than to curl back up into a ball and wish that this was only a dream, but he was a knight and knights wouldn't do that.

"Come on, Sir Horace," he said in a trembling voice. He breathed deeply a few times and then said louder and firmer, "Sir Horace."

He didn't have a belt in which to tuck his sword, and he didn't think he could climb very well with it down his pants. He'd have to leave it behind. It seemed like such a waste when he'd gone to all the trouble of finding it in the first place. He laid it gently in a corner, and bid farewell to it. He felt his heart wrench in sadness as he turned away. How could he be a knight without a sword?

He walked to the wall and stretched out his hand for the first handhold he could feel, and grimly he began to climb.

It was harder than he thought it would be to climb with only one hand. He dared not look down as he moved-keeping his eyes locked immovably on the patch of sky he could see at the top.

He hadn't gotten very high when he felt the foothold beneath his right foot crumble away. As he had just lifted his left foot to find another foothold he was left hanging by his one hand. Without his legs to hold his body away from the wall, he slammed into the side of the well. He felt his fingers release their grip on the handhold and he plummeted back to the bottom.

His entire weight fell on the arm he had secured in his shirt. There was a bright flash of light, and then all was black.

*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*

(Looks furtively around) Mwahahaha I am mean.

TBC

Please review!


	3. Chapter 3

The Angel

Chapter 3

By: Trep092

Disclaimer: Own Ranger's Apprentice, I do not. (Yoda anyone?)

A/N: Everyone who has read/alerted/favourited/reviewed is awesome!

Reviewers:

Lady Bec of Imagineland: I'm glad you liked it! Yeah sadly for this story the chapters won't be that long. But, just for you, I'll try my best to post longer chapters!

Luvergirlof books: I most certainly am! Your welcome. I hope you like this chapter!

SupernaturalFlames: Hehehe I know I'm evil. I hope you like this one.

Scarhead8: Hehehe yes poor Horace!

*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*

Halt sighed. Abelard's ears flicked back at that unexpected noise from his master.

"Easy boy," he murmured to his horse as he patted his neck.

The shaggy little Ranger horse snorted softly as if saying, "how am I to be 'easy' when tension is rolling off you in waves?"

"Good point," Halt said softly and made a monumental effort to relax. He breathed deeply in through his nose, and then out through his mouth. It didn't help.

He wasn't new at his job. He'd been at it for years. He'd fought battles, hunted down crooks and thieves, and seen terrible things. There was still one thing that still got to him though. One thing that made him more taut with tension than his bowstring. Children. More specifically, missing, kidnapped, injured, or murdered children. And in this case he could be dealing with all three.

Earlier that day his archery practice had been rudely interrupted by an out-of-breath messenger bearing a urgent missive from Crowley, the Ranger Corps Commandant.

The message had been brief and to the point. There was a well-organized band of bandits terrorizing small farming communities in neighbouring fiefs, and by the looks of it, their next point of attack would be Serwood, a small farming community located in the extreme North East point of Redmont Fief.

The bandits were well organized and disciplined. They had waited until the fall harvest and were burglarizing homes while the occupants were busy gathering in crops. They were evidently on horseback as they moved from community to community with relative ease. They also appeared to be picking farms to hit at random, but were always moving in a westward direction.

The Ranger from the neighbouring Fief had been injured in the pursuit of the bandits, and Crowley wanted Halt to round them up as soon as possible so that they couldn't cause anymore damage.

He had quickly saddled Abelard and headed North as quickly as possible. The bandits struck during the day and he wanted to be there in time to prevent them from doing it again.

Despite Abelard's tireless speed, when he reached the small group of farms which made up Serwood, he found the inhabitants running about in utter chaos.

The residents of this sleepy little hamlet were rather isolated from the rest of the fief, and thus were more suspicious of Rangers than most people. Thus it took him a while to figure out what was going on. He found a large farmer who, amongst his frantic gestures to ward off evil, managed to tell Halt what had happened.

Most of the inhabitants of the community—including the women and older children—had been out in the fields gathering in crops. A couple of hours before, a tearful girl had run out to the field to tell the parents of the child she was supposed to be minding, that their son was missing and she couldn't find him anywhere.

The parents had abandoned their work and had gone back to their house to start a search. The child was known to be very adventurous and needed to be closely supervised because he had the tendency to wander off.

They had entered the house—and from what the members of the community figured—had interrupted a robbery in progress.

After a good chunk of time, when the parents hadn't returned to the fields, several women left to help them in their search for their son. They had entered the house only to find three bodies-the mother, the father, and the young girl that had been looking after the son.

The women had at once called for the men, and a haphazard pursuit was organized. This was when Halt had arrived on the scene.

He had immediately bade everyone to stop their actions. The people had instantly raised an uproar—angry that an outsider, that was claiming to be a ranger, and thus probably had evil magical powers, was ordering them around. It took quite a while for Halt to convince the locals that he was trying to help hinder. In many situations the over exaggerated fear of Rangers was useful, but today Halt cursed it. He was only trying to aid these people by finding the murderers and the now orphaned, little boy, but instead of compliance he was about to be driven away by a mob with pitchforks.

"I'm here to help you all," Halt shouted, while narrowing his eyes into the fierce expression that tended to make the most belligerent fool listen up. "Your town his experienced a terrible thing. A little boy is missing, three people are dead, and their murderers have bolted. I know you seek revenge, and are desperate to find the boy, but these tasks would be accomplished more expediently by a trained Ranger, and standing here arguing over the point is just wasting precious time the boy may not have." His bluntness was perhaps a bit callous, but there was no doubt it was effective.

There was some angry muttering as the restless crowd parted and let him pass, but his progress was not hindered. He approached the house in which the terrible events of the day had occurred and carefully pushed the front door open.

The small farmhouse was testament to the hard life of common farmers. The rooms were small and sparsely furnished, though they were meticulously clean. The three bodies laying in a heap on the floor wrecked the quaint atmosphere of the home though. Halt felt his stomach knot in revulsion as he stared down on the gruesome site.

The unfortunate owners of the house had definitely stumbled completely unaware into a burglary in progress. While most of the house was clean, the cupboards, trunks, and shelves that had contained the families valuables were open, overturned, and swept clean. Such things that were valuable to a family, but not to a thief, were scattered over the floor.

Halt's eyes swept quickly over the bodies. They were covered in blood from several erratic dagger wounds that looked as though they had been inflicted timidly. Unprofessional and sloppy as they were, there was no doubt they had been effective. The people who had committed this heinous crime—there had been at least three to have subdued all three victims without more of a struggle—hadn't wanted to kill the three people that had stumbled upon their robbery, but they had. That made them even more dangerous now. They had set up a scheme that would allow them to steal without conflict, but now that they had actually killed people, they would be scared and much more willing to lash out violently.

Tearing his eyes away from the horrible site before him, he turned around and quietly left the dead in peace. Outside the little house stood a couple, wrapped in each other's arms with silent tears trickling down their faces.

Halt felt his heart constrict with sympathy for the family, but his face remained stoically blank as he moved to step around the grieving couple. He wasn't any good at comforting people.

"Wait," the crying man said softly. Halt stopped in his tracks. "Please find the monsters who killed our daughter. Find them, and k-kill them. She deserved to live."

Halt felt his carefully constructed mask of indifference slipping. He looked straight into the red-rimmed, tortured eyes of the grieving father and promised, "I will find them."

With that proclamation, he walked away towards Abelard. As he walked, he couldn't help but notice that there was no single group of people frantic with worry for the missing boy. He stopped a passing farmer and asked him whether the boy, whose name he had learned was Horace, had any family remaining. The farmer shook his head in the negative and hurried off throwing cautious, unfriendly looks over his shoulder at the Ranger.

Halt swiftly mounted Abelard. Sensing his tension and impatience, the little horse's ears flicked up and he came to full attention. Halt, with a touch of the reigns, sent Abelard heading out of the village. The people he passed were still levelling angry stares on him, but at least they had listened to his instructions and weren't pursuing the murderers.

The road out of town was hard packed from the countless hooves and wagons that passed over it each day. There was no way to identify the hoof prints of the fleeing murderer's horses, but, the untamed grass on either side of the road was brittle—near its death in the late autumn—and it would be easily noticeable if the band of thieves had left the road to cut across country. So he bade Abelard to quicken his pace, and he kept his sharp eyes probing the landscape.

He hadn't been in pursuit long, when he saw what he was looking for. Off to the right, cutting across a fallow field, were hoof prints. He nodded to himself. The tracks were leading due west. That was the direction Crowley had said that the thieves were always heading. It made sense that after fleeing the town they would eventually start heading in the direction they were always heading.

He directed Abelard to the right, and set off at the ground-eating lope that Ranger horses were famous for. He would catch the brigands and find the missing boy, not just because it was his job, but because it was the right thing to do.

Unbeknownst to Halt, his search that led him across the field, took him within fifty metres of a small, scared, badly injured boy who was laying unconscious at the bottom of an old, neglected well.

*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*

Tbc

Wow! I can't believe how long I've made you wait for this. I'm sorry. I've been insanely busy with moving, and finishing up work and dealing with arguing, divorced parents. I've got more time now, so expect a new chapter very, very soon.

Question Of The Chapter!

I just finished reading the ninth Alex Rider book by Anthony Horowitz. I was wondering if any of you have read those books, and if so what you thought of the final one?


	4. Chapter 4

The Angel

Chapter 4

By: Trep092

Disclaimer: Is there anyone out there who actually thinks I own RA? I thought not.

A/N: Everyone who has reviewed/read/favourited/alerted is amazing!

Reviewers:

Lafd: Yeah the ninth book was good, different but good. Yes Will and Alyss will make an appearance.

Wildstar of Windclan: Your wish is my command! I hope you enjoy!

Cocoa85715: He will find him eventually, don't worry. The question is, will he be in time? Mwahaha. Yeah the Alex Rider books are awesome, you should read them if you get the chance.

Luvergirlof books: Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed it. Halt will find him eventually...

Now, back to our regularly scheduled Horace angst.

*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*

His senses came back to him slowly. The first to return was his sense of smell. His sluggish brain recognized the smell of earth. It was a familiar smell to him, growing up in a farming community. Earth was what kept them all alive, providing grains, vegetables, grass for livestock, and, deep in the forest, sweet fruits. His Pa often told him, "if you treat the earth well son, it will do the same for you." There family was lucky. The earth treated them very well. Serwood was a community built on fertile land that rarely experienced drought.

His tongue flickered over his dry, cracked lips. He tasted dirt, but also a salty, metallic flavour that his muddled brain couldn't quite place.

He couldn't hear anything. All was silent. Why was he here, lying in the dirt? Where was his Ma and Pa?

He tried to open his eyes. They didn't seem to be working. He couldn't see anything. He began to panic.

It was as his breaths came out in the rapid shallow gasps of hyperventilation that he realized that he was lying on his stomach with his face pressed into the dirt. No wonder he couldn't see anything.

Quickly, he rolled over, and immediately regretted it. His awareness of the agonizing pain in his arm had been dulled, but it was now sharply, and torturously brought back to the forefront of his mind.

Darkness began to encroach upon the outer edges of his eyes, but he fought to stay conscious. If he was going to get out of his current situation, he'd need his wits about him.

Dimly, a half-forgotten memory came back to him. His Pa was sitting next to him as he got several cuts stitched up by the village's medicine woman. He had climbed a tall tree in the woods while his Ma and some other women and children gathered fruits and berries. He'd been startled when a bird on a nearby branch let out a loud screech causing him to lose his balance and plummet to the forest floor below. He hadn't been very high in the tree and so had walked away with only bruises, scratches and cuts.

As Marria the Medicine Woman, rubbed herb-smelling ointment on his various contusions, his Pa dropped a labour-hardened arm around his shoulders and smiled down at his young Son. "Ah boy, you're going to be trouble, mark my words. Who am I kidin'? You already cause enough trouble for ten littlin's. You have the spirit of your old Pa when he was young. Ah don't look at me like I'm Jarson." With the mention of the village's oldest inhabitant—a wizened old man with snow-white hair, and one remaining grey stump of a tooth—Horace giggled. "I was young once too you know. I know how the longing for adventure and grandeur burns in your soul, but there's no way to obtain it. Folks like us can never be knights and nobles. We must accept our lot in life and leave grandness to others who were born into it. Ah boy it will be hard for you, but you'll accept it one day. What is your old Pa rambling on about? You've still got plenty of time to be a wild youngster. May the angels look after you Son. I have a feeling you'll try their patients as much as you'll try your Ma's and mine. But don't frown so Son. No matter what we love you and the angels will always take care of you when you're in need."

He remembered frowning up at his Pa. He didn't believe that their destiny's were set in stone. He thought that he could be a knight even though he was a farmer's son.

The fact that his Pa had been like him, adventurous and troublesome, surprised him. His Pa was always so solid on his views of the world. Roles were fixed and not to be changed. He had always imagined his Pa ploughing fields and growing crops.

The warm memory of his Pa's love soothed and numbed some of the fierce pain raging through his little body. How long had he been down here? How long had the world been dark and without feeling? The round opening of the well above him revealed a sky that was much dimmer than it had been when he had plummeted into the earth.

He began to shiver. He noticed that the temperature had dropped significantly since the last time he was conscious. The encroaching dark scared him.

He let out a piteous moan. His firm hold on his emotions was slipping rapidly with the dying light and the dropping temperature.

"Paaaaaaaaaa!"

He curled tighter into a ball, ignoring the throbbing in his injured limb. He closed his eyes tight and said, "Please, I need an angel to help me."

*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*

TBC

Ok, Ok I am so so so so so sorry about my six month absence. In my defence I spent two thirds of that time in a country where I didn't have access to a computer. I'm only just getting back into the swing of fan fiction writing again, so please forgive the horribleness of this chapter. Why don't you all tell me what blunt object you will use to kill me so I can avoid people wielding those objects in the future.


	5. Chapter 5

The Angel

Chapter 5

By: Trep092

Disclaimer: Sadly, Santa didn't bring me the rights for RA for Christmas, and neither did the Easter Bunny for Easter, so I still don't own it.

A/N: Everyone who has read/reviewed/favourite/alerted deserves a cookie!

Reviewers:

Konri Kari: Thanks. I hope you like this one.

Queen's Clasher: I don't know how I managed it, but I did. I hope you like this one.

Ranger Lauren: Well… that's the whole point don't you know?

Luvergirl of books: I'm glad you still like it. I actually haven't read the eleventh book yet sadly.

Lady Bec of Imagineland: Yep I'm back! I hope you like this one!

Scarhead8: I'm glad you like it. I've had a hard time stopping everyone I meet and asking them if they have a broken pencil concealed somewhere on their person. People now think I'm crazy.

Cocoa85715: I'm sorry for the shortness of that chapter. Just wait my friend, Halt is on his way.

*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*

"The nerve of these people," Halt thought as he lay on his stomach in the long grass staring down at the small band of bandits that had bivouacked in a hollow near the edge of a forest. The idiots hadn't even camped in the trees to attempt to hide from pursuit. They even had a roaring fire blazing, acting as a beacon to any eye within miles. They were either extremely confident in the fact that they weren't being followed, or had less brain power than the average garden slug. Halt strongly believed the latter to be true.

It bothered him though. Their plan, while being simple, was no-doubt effective. It had required brains to put together. It was true that they had panicked when faced with the owners of the house that they were robbing, but you'd think that they'd be extra conscious when they were on the run, especially when they knew Rangers were after them. Or perhaps they didn't know.

Haman, the Ranger from the neighbouring Fief that had been tracking the outlaws, had been injured in the pursuit. He had broken his ankle when he had slipped on an embankment in the dark. He had found tracks from the thieves' passage, but had not made contact with them.

Even so, the small band of crooks should think that the people of Serwood wouldn't let their crimes go unpunished.

The three men around the fire were scruffy, unshaven and filthy. They weren't particularly well-built, but they didn't have to be to undertake their scheme. They were cowards who snuck and stole but didn't confront.

"Did ya get a look at the loot we got boys?" the largest of the three asked in an oily voice, breaking the natural silence of the evening.

"Ya," his blonde-haired companion agreed, twirling his ragged mustache around his grubby finger. "That silver bracelet's got to be worth a pretty penny."

"I'm surprised farmin' filth like them coulda afforded such a fine thing." The third man said in a slow drawling accent.

"Don't matter how," Mustache Man said gleefully, "it's ours now and once we've sold it with the rest of the trinkets we'll be rollin' in gold."

Halt clenched his fists in anger. The scum were discussing their loot calmly, seemingly not affected by the murders they'd committed. The state of the corpses back in Serwood had showed that the men were obviously not experienced at killing, but their calm demeanour now showed that the men's hearts were cold and hardened. This made them dangerous.

Seeing and hearing all that he needed to, Halt rose and crept towards the men, creeping through the shadows cast by the trees at the edge of the wood in the uncertain, flickering light of the fire.

"Ya, it's aweful nice of them farmin' scum to leave their valuables unattended, ripe for the pickin'."

"It'd be aweful nice of you to shut your mouth and put your hands on your head, that goes for all of you filth," Halt said calmly as he stepped out from the cover of the trees' shadows.

The men gasped and leapt to their feet, their hands fumbling for weapons. Their eyes widened even farther as the small cloak-wrapped man quickly raised and drew a lethal looking longbow with practiced-ease.

"Put your hands on your heads or you'll find out exactly what I can do with this bow."

"Oh we're so scared," sneered Mustache Man.

"You should be," Halt said in a deadly serious voice. "Does King's Ranger mean anything to you?"

Halt saw the flicker of recognition in the men's eyes, but they didn't back down. Definitely idiots then.

"Maybe we should do what he says Jack," Drawling Mann said nervously not taking his eyes off the deadly arrow that was knocked and pointed in his general direction.

"Yes Jack," Halt drawled in imitation, "let's put our hands on our heads, slowly mind you, and then we're going to have a little conversation."

"What gives you the right?" the big oily-voiced man, who had been silently observing, spoke up. "We're simply harmless travellers; we've done nothing to warrant such treatment."

"You've done nothing?" Halt growled, his fingers twitching on the bow. "Do you call thieving from honest families, killing a man and his wife, and a little girl nothing?"

A swift movement and a flash of metal caught Halt's attention. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a blood-stained dagger flying in his direction. He swiftly stepped aside and loosed his arrow.

Mustache Man fell to the ground, his fingers clutching his ear. He had taken advantage of Halt's momentary distraction to grab the dagger strapped to his leg and throw it, but unfortunately for him, Halt's reflexes were sharp; the well-aimed arrow sliced a groove through the top of his left ear. It wasn't a very big wound, but it was quite painful. Normally he would have aimed only to scare; most people would be frightened into talking after a razor-sharp arrow whizzed half a centimetre from their ear. In this case however, he wasn't feeling any sympathy for the ruffians in question, and he thought a little painful demonstration would promptly loosen their tongues.

"I'm really getting tired of you not doing what I say," Halt said wearily, then yelled, "put your hands on your heads, and don't try any funny business."

The two remaining standing thugs jumped, and then quickly complied. Mustache Man was still lying on the ground, moaning and clutching his bleeding ear with both his hands.

"That's better." Halt said walking over to the much more compliant thugs. He scoffed, "Harmless travellers indeed."

He quickly laid aside his bow, pulling his sax knife from the double scabbard at his waist. "Don't get any funny ideas; I'm just as handy with this knife as I am with the bow," he warned, "but next time I won't be aiming to graze. I hear that a knife embedded in your knee is quite painful."

The prone, mustachioed man groaned even louder, and Halt could see by the light of the still flickering fire, that his face was chalk-white with fear and pain.

Halt uncoiled a length of rope from around his waist and dropped it at the feet of the man with the drawling voice. "Tie your two friends' hands behind their backs."

Without taking his wide, terrified eyes off the gleaming, raiser-sharp blade in Halt's hand, the man bent down, picked up the rope and cautiously moved towards the two other members of the group.

"Wait," the Oily-Voiced man who had spoken out earlier said in an imploring voice, "You have the wrong people. We're innocent travellers who haven't done anything to warrant the attention of a King's Ranger."

"Well if you hadn't merited my attention before, which I strongly suspect you did, you warrant it now. You attacked me."

"Oh, Jack's just a bit jumpy. He's a little slow if you get my meaning," the man replied

"Funny, he threw that dagger after I had mentioned that you lot are thieves and murderers, and I do believe I saw blood on that dagger."

Halt's sharp eyes caught the quick flash of fear in the man's eyes.

"Where are you with that rope?" Halt bellowed at the man with the drawling voice who was standing stalk-still staring at the scene unfolding before him. The man shuffled forward and tied Jack's hands behind his back with fumbling fingers. When he stepped hesitantly towards Oily-Voiced Man, the other man kicked out his leg, tripped him, and then bolted into the night.

Halt leapt over the prone body and tackled the fleeing man to the ground before he had taken no more than three paces. He efficiently tied the struggling man's hands and feet and divested him of his weapons. Then Halt did the same for Drawling Man and Jack. When the three thieves were sufficiently trussed, he collected the dagger that had been thrown at him. As he had suspected, the blade was covered in patches of rust-coloured blood. He strode back to where the men lay and thrust the blade in front of Drawling Man's eyes. Halt judged him as the one that would be the easiest to get talking.

"What's your name?"

"Clive, my lord."

"Oh, so now its lord is it? Alright then, what are the names of your friends?"

"Jack and Herman."

"Where's your horses Clive?"

"We don't have no horses," Herman said in his Oily voice from where he lay bound on the ground. "We're only poor travellers."

"T-that's r-right," Clive stuttered nervously, "We ain't got no horses."

Halt strode quickly over to Herman and shoved his sax knife under his chin. When Herman gasped in fear, Halt shoved an old rag into his mouth. "I'm really getting tired of your feeble bleating about how your such '"innocent"' and '"poor"' travellers. I think we've established you're not, so just shut up!"

Herman struggled violently against is bonds and thrashed his head from side to side, but his efforts were fruitless. Halt gave him one last contemptuous look, then strode back to Clive.

"I will ask you one last time, and unless you want to end up like your friend Jack, you'll answer me truthfully and quickly. Where are your horses?"

"O-over there," Clive said in a quavering voice, "beyond those trees. Please don't hurt me my lord.""

"Oh I wouldn't be worrying about what I'll do to you," said Halt as he turned away. He caught the look of hope in the man's wild eyes so he added, "I'd be worrying about what the Baron will do to you. The punishment for murder is death don't you know." Clive gasped in terror at this pronouncement.

Halt did a swift visual check on his prisoners and then slipped off beyond the extended arm of forest to find the thieves' horses. He found them right where Clive said they'd be. There were four horses tethered to trees on the fringe of the woods; three for riding and a pack pony that was piled high with saddlebags. One quick look in the most accessible bags revealed an assortment of small trinkets that, when added together, amounted to a fair amount of gold. Halt whistled under his breath. He didn't envy the person who'd have to sort out the owners of the plethora of items in the treasure trove.

One by one he untied the four horses and lead them back to where the three men still lay bound on the ground. When all the men and beasts were congregated Halt addressed the prisoners. "After looking in your saddle bags and finding a large amount of baubles, and seeing this knife," he waved the still blood-covered dagger in the air, "I do believe that you lot are the bandits wanted in several fiefs for thievery, and also those wanted in this fief for three counts of murder."

With that declaration, Herman thrashed wildly against his bonds.

"I'm sure the Baron will be happy to hear your remonstrations," Halt added disdainfully. He truly loathed the three men lying before him. They were no-good criminals, who believed that the World owed them something. They snuck around and stole honest peoples' valuables, things that the people had worked hard for. And then, when they had been caught, they'd murdered three people in cold blood; taking a young girl from her parents, and the parents from a young boy.

The boy! Halt had nearly forgotten him in the search for his parents' killers.

He thrust out his hand and grabbed the collar of Clive's shirt. Clive squeaked in terror at the sudden, violent motion. "Where's the boy," Halt growled in his most menacing voice.

"Boy?" Clive choked out past the pressure on his windpipe.

"Yes, the boy. You know, the son of the people you murdered today. Where is he?" Halt yelled the last three words, making Clive's eyes roll in terror.

"We didn't mean it," Clive choked out, "those people come runnin' in the house and surprised us is all. We didn't mean to kill 'em, but we had to. They just surprised us."

"What about the boy?" Halt demanded again with no pity in his stern voice.

"There weren't no boy there, Just the old woman and man and the girl. No boy!" He yelled the last two words as Halt used his grip on the man's shirt to shake him roughly.

Halt saw no deceit in Clive's frantic eyes. He was a half-witted man who had already confessed to being involved in murder and theft. He had no reason to lie about the boy.

"Alright then," he addressed the entire group lying before him, "you lot are going to come with me to visit the Baron who will judge you for your crimes. If it were up to me, I'd hang you right here and now. I do have that authority, but because I am capable of taking you to the Baron, that is where we are going."

Without further ado, he hefted Clive to his feet. He loosened the bonds around his ankles so that he could shuffle awkwardly over to one of the horses. Making use of his incredible upper body strength, gained from years of using his heavy longbow, he heaved Clive into the saddle. He produced another length of rope seemingly from nowhere, and bound the criminal to the saddle. He repeated the process with the other two; prodding the protesting Herman along with his sax knife.

Finally, when the protesting men and horses were tied in a long line, Halt set off on foot leading the parade. He had left Abelard half a kilometre away from the campsite because he had wanted to scout around the area on foot. When he reached his sturdy little horse, he tied the lead rein to Abelard's pommel and mounted.

Setting off east with the clomping, plodding horses in toe, Halt couldn't help but think again that he was missing something. There had to be a ringleader for this little band of felons; they weren't intelligent enough to come up with their little scheme. There had to be someone organizing and directing them. He and the Baron would have to question them further when they got back to castle Redmont.

Unbeknownst to Halt, the leader stood deep within the shadows at the edge of the forest watching him ride away with his idiot lackeys and his treasure. He didn't much care about the men, they were nothing but dumb muscle, but he wasn't about to see his treasure taken away.

He had arrived at the campsite just after the Ranger. He was glad that he had decided to silently observe his men before revealing himself or he would have strolled out right into a trap. He had debated simply stealing the pack horse and fleeing, but after seeing the cloaked man's skill with his weapons, he couldn't risk it, and after all, he wasn't a take action kind of person. He preferred having others do his dirty work while he reaped the reward.

Cursing, he spun on his heel and faded back into the trees. He was a fairly skilled unseen mover in the forest; after all, it was his home. It was that fact that had saved him from Halt's eagle eyes and acute senses. That and the fact that Halt had left Abelard a fare distance away.

He was determined to get his treasure back. It was good that he had several other less simple-minded men in his employ. He would need them to ambush and kill the Ranger. No one messed with him and lived.

*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*RA*

TBC

Please review.

A/N: ell folks, I have no excuse. None at all. But I'm back again and that's all that matters. My muse has returned to me and I have planned out the remainder of this story (it should be nine chapters long). I even have ideas for other stories floating around. So hang on to your hats/hair/wigs/heads and brace yourselves for a crazy ride!


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